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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22987945">Dreams of Mockingbirds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fassinnin/pseuds/Fassinnin'>Fassinnin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Book 2: A Clash of Kings, F/M, Light Angst, Peeping, Rough Sex, Scents &amp; Smells, Secret Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:01:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22987945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fassinnin/pseuds/Fassinnin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief smile sets in motion a turmoil only few will ever truly know...The lioness prowls a mockingbird...To the initial proud indifference comes a fatal curiosity deepened by their beastly sigils...Wolfs and roses alike, between torments, perfumes and dreams, the mockingbird is unrelentless thereafter, a whirl, a turpitude slowly, but surely, enveloping them.<br/>How could love spurt where others see earth scorched ? How could it not; they are so much more than it seems...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Petyr Baelish/Cersei Lannister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Amidst a Summer Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <b>I</b> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em> <b>Tyrion</b> </em> </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sat at his desk; it was well past dusk and the sun almost fell out of the tall windows' view. The lemon and orange taint of the snoozing sun, crept and dissipated his room little by little, while he was finishing a most-heavy tome on the history of the kingdoms past. The lit candle stick at his desk was getting cooked, an empty cup beside it, and when he finally looked up from his lap, he noticed the end of the day in the sun's coloured blaze across the pages; the lack of wax convinced him to put an end to today's study. He lifted the heavy book with all his body to the table: putting them side to side, the book needed only one of his head to be of the same height:</p>
<p><em>Maesters seldom know of modesty when it comes to knowledge; I should decree</em><em>"the law to reduce the sizes of tomes so as to be two heads smaller at most than </em><em>me</em><em>"</em> he bickered, smirking at his own jest. Stretching to and fro, he felt his back ache from his continuous sitting. <em>Gods, how much time had gone</em> ? <em>I barely remember when I began; I do not want to imagine what sort of husband I would be if I can't seem to put myself out from reading by my own volition; I think the best kind</em> he chuckled at himself and took his crimson cloak from the wall; before he left, he looked into the room once more, at the ragged old book on the desk and the falling sky. <em>Shae must be waiting for me, no doubt; even if far from being my wife, still must I care just as much</em>; the thought made him sullen; Tysha, his first and only marriage concluding all the others, sealing his family path, his dynasty destiny: <em>why not be content with whores, dwarf ? You like their pink, they cherish your gold. So long as you never run out of coin, they'll just keep on throwing themselves at you: all the love you can have</em>...Yet his morose optimism left him starring absentmindedly at the pied of the now closed door of the chamber, surrounded by awful silence. <em>All the love you can have</em>...Silence he didn't want, nor need; he wanted to laugh and needed to hear laughter, and dirty cajolery and cute smiles and Shae's open legs, just for him: <em>even a little attention makes a man feel bigger</em>.</p>
<p>The halls were empty and no murmur, nor clatter behind the numerous doors; the fire of the torches made shadows of hellish heights, and the reddish orange it concocted threw jagged visions of a maze-like building; stepping down from the spiraling steps of cold hard stone, Tyrion reached for the door below the serpentine steps; at first, he was quite dizzy of these steps; even now, he still lingers and supports himself on the walls. His head felt cumbersome as he opened the door: throughout the hall, no soul. At the end of it, the council chamber. <em>No more council today, no more; I feel already lost without some more of Littlefinger's vertiginous directions, Varys' perfumed scented paths and Pycelle's gnarly wisdom</em>. Besides, the council had finished long before he even reached his Tower; in the morning they all met, him, the queen regent, the most <em>trusted</em> advisors; and of course, no Joffrey. The council chamber members reminded him of a melting pot of all the most repugnant poisons and its cures: <em>turns out, most lacked remedy, if even identified, for their ills</em>; <em>furthermore</em>, <em>nothing sanitary and good for the realm was going to</em><em> ever</em><em> come out of the pot</em>. Tyrion stepped on the carpet towards the steps again to get to the main gate, when a muffled sound came suddenly to his ears; he stopped moving, unsure, attentive, his ears gauging for more; nothing...He heard it again, the muffled sound, as if a chair was quietly but quickly dragged, pushed against the floor. The screeching ceased just as it began and he no longer heard anything; Tyrion felt ill-at-ease, his brow gently burning and his body dampening beneath the leather; as if he were an intruder in a home he sneaked up in. His eyes skirted round of the hall, back and forth, but nothing again; <em>some rats, some cats, who knows. Have I been made craven by the sound of some rat poking around</em> ? Although, there weren't that many in the Red Keep, and that many that made that clear a noise. His tired body just wanted to be in Shae's arms, across the city, far from the Red Keep, right at this moment.</p>
<p>"Fuuu-uuck".</p>
<p>Tyrion stood still as a rock, his ears sharpening; some part of him just wanted to go away, to fly on his destrier as fast and forget the damned Red Keep for today, for good. He stopped in this momentum though and reassessed himself quite quickly; for just a second, he imagined hearing Cersei's dulcet voice. Without budging an step from his spot near the door where he came from, his eyes rapidly tried to locate the sound his ears have picked thrice now… Quiet again...as if the sound was toying with his nerves, but couldn't hold back and it made him tense evermore; he wondered if he remained stiller still, something again would pop out; he would try to move towards it. He waited; and he waited, his back redressing, straight and calming his breaths. Unsure what to do, where to go, if he should just leave and let it be, but: <em>How many wenches fuck in the Red Keep that have Cersei’s voice</em> ? </p>
<p>A panting, short - long enough for Tyrion: he reached towards his hidden dagger and sneaked towards the sound; as he approached the council room’s double doors, he noticed the left one a bit ajar, a faint warm light poking just enough out of the crack; he stepped carefully to the feeble opening and tried to poke with his mismatched eyes. He almost dropped his dagger; a frozen chill and a fiery sword tip raced against his spine.</p>
<p>Inside, the council table was run over with two bodies, both half naked and enough steam coming out of them to make up for it. The chairs were displaced, and on one of them, purple black velvet pants hung from the top, thrown in a rush; in the middle of the seat, carefully placed jewelry: a golden tiara and a golden ring with an emerald the size of a pigeon egg; on the floor, next to the chair, were tossed shoes and Tyrion, dumbfounded, immediately recognized Cersei under a man's body and shuddered seeing her in all her guarded, distinctive vulnerability: her evermore teasing breasts hanging out, tightly pressed against each other, her crimson-gold robe stretched around them, stiff while trying to keep them out; her nipples poking firmly and irritated, bite marks all over her tits, covered in both dried and humid saliva; her naked bottom, from toes to hips, moving like a mating rabbit, up down up down, in out in out; her long pale legs entangled around the back of her lover's loin, seemingly clenching with all her might, yet so supple. Her love mate seemed at first unfamiliar, until he caught sight of the patterned black mockingbird across dark purple satin, shifting to shadow and light from the trembling fire of the candles on the table; Littlefinger was bare-skinned from his waist down, his derriere showing and unaware, covering most of Cersei's cunt. He thrusted, quick, sharp shoves, in and out, relentless, right into Cersei's pelvis it seemed, so hard it made Tyrion cringe with pain; his hands seemed to dance in her fiery blond sloppy hair; sometimes, one squished her lips and bosom, taking her tongue out from her gaping gasping mouth and kissing it,, licking it, biting it, letting spit drop from his into hers; every so often, the other spanked her ass cheeks blood red - still it seemed Cersei took a most fantastic pleasure in it; while his face was down with hers, touching, and from the sounds Tyrion saw, kissing, slurping, licking all of her face, spitting his spit in her accumulated mouth spit, foaming with glee, as if he was a rabid animal, feasting on his prey; the sounds of wet flesh slamming against wet flesh, their hotness steaming the air surrounding them all, the strangled moans of pleasure, made Tyrion more bold to see it better, his bulging member pressed hard against leather, and against the door. He saw Cersei's blond-auburn oily pubes, covered in sweat and spit; the little of her cunt he spied was pinkish-red from excitement, slick and sometimes almost translucent from the moisture she couldn't stop spewing, dripping from all sides with semen and white cream and frothing tiny bubbles of air of her juices, appearing and disappearing like a boiling stew; she looked like nothing Tyrion knew of her, ever, not in his thoughts, not in his most perverse dreams: a clutter of lust made flesh, madness made passion, hysteria made desire. Although he couldn't precisely see everything that far away, he noticed her eyes seeming half open from the fatigue, her gaze darting from Petyr, rolling upward until her pupil barely appeared on her eye whites and rolling back at him again. She was smiling with her drooling mouth open and panting yet irradiating arousal and concupiscence. The smells invaded Tyrion's nose from the beginning, little by little: for once, without his want, he felt inside the Red Keep like in a brothel: the sweet yet salty odour of the sweat was corroborating with the pleasure secretions running down Cersei's stomach and Pety's legs; a miasma of saliva and perfume enveloped all; the candle wax was running low and the little flames' fumes exhaled aromatic exotic flowery scents. He listened Cersei's dampen moans and looked at her gasping like a madwoman, moving her body without stop, like under a dark and shadowed spell. Littlefinger was grunting subtly, not as loud as Cersei, while his body pounded, stomped against her body, seemingly without hesitation or tenderness; he sounded in delight while ravaging her, just as much as Cersei's screeches, her cunt palpitating in titillation to his every thrust. The table overflowed in sticky waters, in creamy paste, in cum, so much so, it spilled from the edges, where they suspended, onto the Myrish carpet on the floor, gluing on to Cersei's hips and legs, on to her dress and her hands, while her fingers were covered in it already, some of it dried, some still lubricious. </p>
<p>Tyrion for a rare moment in all his life, thought nothing, not quite in control of his mind: his boner was pulsating violently, and he was unsure, shaken by the meaning of <em>any</em> of whatsoever he stumbled upon; it looked as if several hours passed before Tyrion forced one of his legs out into the hall, and his body lingering, joined reluctantly, as the couple could not cease their beastly fucking; his eyes adjusted to the light of the hall, although quite dim already as well. </p>
<p>His pace was slow, slower than it already was, his body and his head heavy on his legs; he dragged himself, his mind half-emptied, except for all the noise, the smell, the taste and the image vividly reappearing over and over, fluctuating fiercely in front of his eyes, until he was in his bed, hurdling impatiently his drenched leather trousers away, his sheets over his melting body, pulled his member back and forth frantically, discharging his seed into his sweaty hands and legs; and then he could still feel his manhood throbbing against the fur sheets, the moist, salty odours lingering in the air, while he dreadly dreamed of Cersei...</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Action-time-wise, I tried to put it at the beggining of the second book, after Tyrion is appointed Hand of the King; of course, non-cannonical, but all the inspiration (although it was a fair long time that I was concocting some form of relationship between Lilfinger and Cersei ) and the fervour of my writing came from the little smile Cersei gave Petyr - as Tyrion said, only reserved for Jamie - after he imagined a counter-attack to Stannis' letters.<br/>Alright, so far I have in mind only the close vicinity of Petyr to create more pairings; would it be interesting to see other perspective besides Tyrion's ? Other characters, beside Littlefinger's obvious attractions ( Sansa, Myranda ); I could and want to create a lot of unusual pairings, all mostly on Littlefinger's past converations; so far, he's the main focus, the absent protagonist seen in actions instead of his direct thoughts - kind of what GRRM does.<br/>Also, how far should I take it ? How much erotic writing is too much ? Is it enough ? Should I be creating near, in the background, a common story, trying to tie it all ( not that I can, but will try) ? As for me, I'm reading carefully the books; and try to see opportunities to create some more fantasies.<br/>Lemme know what the fuck you think !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wide-eyed Night's Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <b>II</b>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <b>Sansa</b>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>The godswood was growing more familiar to her, as from night to night she departed in a gray gown swiftly; she tried not to be late for her fool knight. She was the first one every single time though, and so this once she strolled more leisurely toward it, still wary of her surroundings; she had made prayers in her chamber to arrive safely, another to keep her from danger along the way and one last that urged the gods to make Robb win faster, kill all the Lannisters - <em>maybe not all of them, at least not Tommen or Myrcella, they didn’t do her any wrong </em>- and return her finally home, with Bran and Rickon and even Arya, if the gods be good, although she had lost hope of seeing her ever again: she made peace with the idea that Arya died, killed by Lannister men or some thief or who knows what. S<em>he did have a knack for trouble</em>…</p><p>She entered the dark plot of elms, cottonwood trees and alders; a wide ray of pale moonlight protruded through the leaves of the heart tree, stabbed in its deep-green smokeberry vines, clarifying the night’s darkness gently all about. She knelt on the soft grass beneath the oak’s overgrown limbs, her mind wandering sadly to the impossible plight she fell in, feeling desperate and frustrated at her state of absolute helplessness; she shed tears that tumbled gingerly on her high cheekbones; even her sorrow fell deaf inside of her, as she had lamented over and over since her father died, since she became a prisoner in the castle of her dreams: <em>dreams made by the songs I sang all my life - but life is not a song</em>, she reminded herself. She will not dream anymore, she will no longer sing songs that made her fly high, she <em>can’t</em>, not anymore…She wiped the dried tears from her rosy cheeks: <em>Ser Dantos might come at any moment, it would be unladylike to greet him in my sorry state.</em></p><p>After praying to the great oak tree again, she rose from her dulled knees and staggered her numbed legs toward the edge of the godswood, trying to peak over onto Blackwater Rush; <em>is my Florian running late because he got caught </em>? She prayed not; her worry nonetheless grew as time seemed to go on and on…<em>He never would abandon me alone in this lion’s den; he drinks it’s true, but hopefully not too much, not this night, please, not tonight</em>…</p><p>At last she heard a clamor among the path to the entrance of the godswood; <em>ser Dantos would never make this much noise, he knows in how much danger he puts both of us</em>…Sansa seemed uncertain of what course of actions she should take: run, hide, wait ? <em>What if it is him in a more awful disposition ? That </em>would <em>explain why he was so late</em>…She tried to calm herself down, until she heard a woman’s giggle from the darkness outside; another giggling, and then a laugh loud as she didn’t hear ever in the serenity of the godswood. She then knew for sure it wasn’t her saviour; she hid herself as swiftly as a cat behind a heaped bush full of leaves, as the sheer delighted voice of the woman came close and closer, until she was certain that she was besides her, in the godswood. She smoothly calmed her breaths, trying to be as still as humanly possible. She stood with her head low to the ground, resting in her hands, as her knees settled on the grassy earth. The laughter seemed to soften, but it appeared to Sansa as perverse as she first heard it: it made her skin crawl with pimples…<em>Is that…Cersei ? What is she doing in the godswood ?</em>… Too afraid to look into the bush’s leaves, she remained with her head downward, the blood adding up in her brain, making her flushed, her face heavy as it made her light-headed and dizzy. She heard the woman’s whispering, though she couldn’t understand or she couldn’t hear it clear enough; and then a man’s more weighty murmur came after, again not hearing much at all. The woman chuckled louder, and purred like a cat…Her voice made her tremble:</p><p>“So this is where some mint can be found…Pick and feed them to me; or actually, no, chew them in your mouth and then puke them out into mine” she giggled wickedly at her own proposal…Sansa knew that voice, it came to her the instant she talked, her body freezing from within and her mind wanting to dash across the yard; her hands were clutching the soft grass, soggy from sudor. <em>What was Cersei, of all the people, doing here in the middle of the night? What is she talking about ? Who is she talking to ? </em>Sansa heard then light steps moving to and fro, stopping and ripping the mint laying about. She made herself even more tiny as she grasped herself even more tightly, afraid he might notice her if he peeked even a little over the already small bush. <em>Thank the gods it’s dense and barely shadows pass in it…Thank the gods. Make them go away, please, please…pray…pray</em>…</p><p>“Feast upon them; yes, munch them hard…give them to me” she said. Sansa heard Cersei open her mouth, listening to her ululating eager aaaaaas, the same that often time children make when they need to convince someone that they have nothing hidden in it; she then grimaced in disgust at the spatter crashing in Cersei’s mouth and the thrilling champ and the half-aired slurping sound of the drool on her chin. “My cat is truly vile, you little vile servant” she quipped, laughing in her disturbed ecstasy. “Little sly cat; my little tom in heat”. Emphatic kisses followed, her pleasure moans making Sansa uneasy: <em>it’s as if I’m peeping into Cersei’s own private chambers; why am I feeling so dirty ? It’s my godswood, the old gods of my father…I should not be the one feeling bad…</em> But as she said that to herself, the gobbling frantic noises and the drinking noises overlapped her own thoughts, and she could not focus, her own thinking making less deafening noises, and way less shameless, distasteful content. Cersei’s was panting as fast and frenzied as she never even imagined one could possibly do from just some kisses; her own idea of lovemaking was more focused on the sweet words and the pure kisses she savored while looking into the eyes of her loved one: all she heard was grunts and hectic devouring sounds, the ingesting of way too much saliva, <em>how much pleasure could there be in another person’s spit</em> ?, the passing of it from one mouth to the other in frenetic, hungry, big kisses; piercing moans and soft surrendering spasms.</p><p><em>If only the people knew… Who could she say it to ? Nobody in her prison cell would believe her; she might even get beaten-up while the queen would keep on with her sick lovemaking</em>….the only eyes that could see and trust her were the old gods’ thousand unseen eyes: she once believed the queen to be pious and respectful even to her old gods; but she mocked them, denigrating their powers, she belittled their force here and showed them all of her most vicious luxuries…now, even more than before, she felt she discovered a queen she once considered, looked up to, estimating her even as much as the queens of love and beauty of the songs, that turned out to be someone else entirely: a revolting voice with vile chants in its throat, her lechery oozing out into the darkness surrounding her…she had barely really seen her true self…</p><p>Cersei whimpered out of his gluttonous embraces: “Demon! why have you just appeared now, blazing my body like it was your hearth to burn ?”, as she shouted, she immediately reentered his mouth, producing more hot and heavy muffled squawking…Sansa, at every name she heard Cersei call her quiet lover, felt her tummy flutter, as if bats bashed against her stomach…a veil of turmoil was cast on her already hazy head, the restlessness of being discovered by them and the nauseating sounds they made, putting her on the brink of fainting; her face was purple with blood: <em>even if I make a little bit of noise, I cannot stay this way, my head is going to burst</em>. So she lifted her head and carefully changed her position; she was directly in front of the bush now, her knees on the grass and her legs supporting the weight of her light, innocent body…her gray gown spread around her, melting from her childlike waist. The delirious kissing was continuing as she tried to peak through the bushes towards the unsavoury couple; the moonlight pale ray was lighting enough for Sansa to discern Cersei, her voice already giving her up the moment she entered the godswood, laughing like…her: Cersei’s giggles reminded Sansa of her and Jeyne, when they still had been under the spell of the stories and the handsome faces of the knights and princes and lords, twittering at a sideways glance and a smile they had gotten. Feeling alike Cersei, even for just this reason, made her skin swell with pimples and hate her past, naive self even more. <em>Why was Cersei this happy ? she doesn’t deserve happiness, I should be the one happy, I dreamed about it all my life! She just ruins everything;</em> even the hope of Cersei being miserable after her husband died…</p><p>“Ah…ive me your fat cock…take it out; take it out…flog me with it” Cersei exclaimed, the steam rising from their mouths as her shadow bent down to the man’s coaled trousers, a heavily pulsating heavy shade bursting out; “little poor one” she teased as she took it in her hand and pulling it, its abundant skin wrinkling, back and forth, slowly, Sansa watching every single move, her eyes glued to the tiny small cracks of the bush. She didn’t understand, her mind at once recoiling in prudery, her body cooking up something she never felt before, funny itches: she did have curious sensitivities down there before, when she imagined herself kiss Joffrey, making out with him; this time it was something out of her mind, something she never knew people did, a sight that she didn’t want to guess behind the shadows; somehow, she was glad it was not because of Joffrey that her tummy warmed up…as Sansa shied her lips inside her mouth, Cersei built saliva in her throat without any coyness, hawking it in loudly and then spewing it across his shaft, smearing with her both hands; she giggled morbidly as she did it again, and again, one time even gagging, holding her contractions from puking her stomach out, bursting out laughing when she stopped her gags; by the time she was done, Sansa gulped every bit of saliva she accumulated, as if Cersei was spitting it out, Sansa gulping it down…She felt an accomplice to Cersei, communicating with their spit without knowing. His member was buried in ropy spit, overflowing with it, still just throbbing up and down with excitement; Sansa gazed at it with some fascination, the strangeness of the situation making her more open to the curiosity that shrouded her eyes; she could discern the bulky manhood gleaming with dribble, its protuberant veins beating like a crazed heartbeat ramified all around, its redden mushroom tip gushing its own slimy secretion, hanging by an invisible web; Cersei opened her mouth and ate the hanging tear. She then took his shaft and while kissing it, jammed her shapely glowing lips with its tip; slapped her watering tongue, her flushed cheeks, spreading the juices all over her visage. The hitting sounds were clear as water, the flesh against flesh made libidinous music, a rhythmic slamming that resounded all around the godswood.</p><p>Sansa was incredulous to this bestial foreplay; nothing prepared her for it: she knew of the lovemaking loved ones made in their bedchambers, but this wasn’t anything alike what her septa taught her, this wasn’t the same lovemaking she imagined herself doing with her husband, this wasn’t the bedchambers that spouses were supposed to share; she knew of brothels and bastards, but they weren’t supposed to be places and products of true love, just the un-knightly lust of peasants and dishonorable lords; her father had begotten a bastard…Has her father done the same acts ? Her mind recoiled, not ever wanting to think she had once imagined him in these demonic acts. A disgusted scowl appeared on her pure face…</p><p>Cersei then fed on his beefy member, entering in her mouth and then her throat, devouring most of it; her mouth was overflowing with saliva breaching beneath that heavy cock of his…<em>who was he ? Why would the queen cheat when her husband was not even a year dead ? Who could’ve made the queen so nasty? Was she always like this, and I was too stupid to see through her facade ?</em> Sansa never thought of a man’s down parts, not ever; she did acknowledge that love was done with it and her own parts, but not so explicitly; <em>not touching it, especially with one’s own mouth, and face for that matter…not bowing to it, making it the object of desire…not staring at it</em>…She was staring alright, and it seemed she wouldn’t stop, not right now, <em>she had to see</em> <em>what the queen was up to</em>…Cersei jerked him, spitting on it from time to time; he brushed her hair and twirled her shadowy golden hair - she liked that, Sansa remarked : she smiled and laughed as he curled her hair between his long fingers; the moon emitted just enough light so as to perceive colors and shapes, but the man was in a doublet and brais all in black and his upper-body part was heavily shaded by the heart tree’s twisted branches…The gods thousand eyes couldn’t seem to help her recognize the shadowy lover…</p><p>Cersei stood up finally, still jerking his erected shaft, kissing him all the while. Sansa was breathing more easily, her face lighting up…<em>They’re done...gods…why did the queen’s lovemaking was so far compared to my own image of it</em>…<em>I’ll be able to return to my bedchamber and make sure to drink dreamwine and forget all of it…it doesn’t even matter if I forget that the queen cheated; nobody will ever trust me anyway… </em>Sansa was getting more relaxed, although she still felt tension in her body, her tummy stinging by the many emotions she passed through in just one night, that she wouldn’t of thought ever passing in her lifetime…already dreaming of her bed and her safe bedchambers where no one could interrupt her sleep…</p><p>The man departed from Cersei in her direction...Sansa recoiled with stupor, her heart skipping a beat, then pounding against her chest, racing like a fire up a dry forest…his march was nonchalant, Sansa almost seeing the walk of someone she knew, but she hid her face away in her hands, anticipating her fainting; her legs were trembling, tears adding up in her eye’s corners, a hot liquid flowing between her thighs on to the ground…</p><p>“If you need to pee, just do it on me darling, leave the bush alone…Do you want to desecrate a holy site ?” Cersei said in jeering voice. “I’m all the soil you need”. Sansa heard the steps stop for a moment, seeming what to decide. “I’ll even strike a nice pose as your vessel” she said laughing. His steps departed from her. “My, you take a lot of convincing when others would give their kingdoms to be just one night in bed with me…What, little cat got your tongue ?” Sansa uplifted her crimson face again, brushing against the leaves. “I think I’ll even refuse your wine and just leave you, with your bush and your rigid cock…” as she snarled at him, he took her face in his hand and caressed slowly her upper lip in a gentle stroke, then putting his thumb up in her mouth while he kissed her bare shoulders. She wore a green and Lannister-red robe of samite, the golden necklace reflecting the pale moonlight. He took it down past her breasts, fondling them, then her nipples; he clasped them and clinched them towards him, Sansa hearing his chuckle for the first time; she couldn’t exactly tell who’s this muffled laugh belonged to, not really paying attention to his silence, more focused on Cersei’s eyes, that seemed to Sansa to throw lances at his companion, yet she smiled wickedly…</p><p>“Is that how is going to be? The lion’s getting punished, is it ?… When I’ll be done with you, you’ll beg me to leave your cock alone…”.</p><p>Cersei took her robe down to her feet, revealing her golden svelte body, her gentle curves of a goddess made flesh, the paleness of her skin luring the moonlight; and threw it with her leg away. She then took him by his high collar and dragged his head down to her breasts, letting him get a brief taste of them, still holding his neck with her long fingers; she then pushed him lower still until he rested with his knees on the grassy patch of land, face to face with her privates.</p><p>“You want to be the one in control…not with me, you little demon…not here…not until your dick breaks in half” laughing while she dragged his face across her lower parts, down to her lowest part and up to her belly; she then threw him away while she climbed on him, her backside facing Sansa’s little eye spot; Sansa was finally going to see them fuck…<em>Gods, what am I thinking ?… </em>But she <em>couldn’t </em>think, as her raggedy breath was getting the more demanding by each second passing, not seeing them copulate; she had to breath trough her mouth, the effort of watching it all making her chest puff more and more nightly air…Sansa looked down to her, where she realized her gown was glued to her thighs; she took it off her slim legs and spotted red as a cherry her wet bare pussy, and stared at it, fascinated by the amount of pee she poured onto the ground, sticking to her groin like Cersei’s own spit stuck to his cock…She approached slowly her fingers toward it, perceiving for the first time a need she didn’t know she had, but she knew it had to be quenched sooner, or else…<em>When did I become so messy ? I feel like a child who cannot controls his own body</em>…The moment her hand hovered her slit, her body moved back and forth two times away like a precise seizure, the air about becoming scarcer and scarcer…<em>What is happening to my body…gods…I need to touch myself, alleviate this madness from my pussy...what I am saying…gods…</em>Her slender fingers tasted her burning lips, her cunt palpitating like a love-struck heart, the pinkish color cooking into a crimson red, glossy with her own liquids. She fought for breath; her face covering in sweat, her entire body convulsing small motions in a cruel, limited space: <em>if only they weren’t here…the entire night to soothe my aching pussy</em>…She rubbed it slowly, building a tension in her body she never had felt, none so intense, none so good; the moment she entered one of her fingers in her little slit, she moaned aloud, her free hand covering her mouth; she spied negligently her neighbors through the leaves, and resumed her discovering; they were making out, Cersei’s beautiful round ass and his titan cock melding on it, facing her just a couple of steps away; she thanked the gods they didn’t hear her moan…Her naked pussy screamed with pleasure, as her inner walls were gently stroked, brushing them with her fingers, light as feathers…</p><p>While hopping on her fingers as silent as she could, she made clear the slapping of the flesh against flesh of her visitors: she watched, dulled by her demanding body, Cersei whacking her own wet cunt with his hard cock…she contemplated that fat rock-hard dick of his, splashing against Cersei’s lips and hosing with rain all the nearby grass; Sansa gulped thirstily the saliva she couldn’t hold in anymore; as Cersei moved his cock into her entrance, Sansa held her breath and, on her knees, crawled nearer her peeping bush…Her hand was budging her lips rapidly; the moment it entered Cersei’s hole, Sansa pushed fingers deeper, both crying with a gasp of bliss, Cersei’s more wild than a bitch in heat, Sansa’s with tears of gratification…</p><p>“Gods, you’re stretching me out; you’re stretching my damn pussy, you monster… Ah!…nudge it in…rock your slab dick inside…ah!…”. <em>I want that…gods, it would relieve me so much, just inside my stomach… “</em>You like my cunt…ah…give it <em>all </em>to me…ah….”<em> I need it too, you whore…I need it more than you…had a life of dicks…I..didn’t…want it… </em>His low-hanging, duck-sized eggs balls kept crashing against her pale ass cheeks, and against the earth, the impact leaving soft red blemishes on her ass tail…Sansa wanted to join them; wanted to lick his shaft and grind her itching cunt against it, to whip that curved ass of the queen and make it bleed with all her nails, stealing that man’s cock and shoving it as quick as a breeze in her flaming gap, riding it till her delicious thirst disappeared into the night’s darkness... Her peeping hole grew larger as time flew by; her eyes and her nose could easily pass through…She had every angle on the queen’s back, seeing her cunt tightening, breathing a ragged, sick breath, her hands spreading her gap, smearing her spit everywhere…Sansa watched it enter and reentered as it were it’s lair, forever pleased in moving back and forth, Sansa making the same motions with two of her fingers; a pasty white cream flowed out of Cersei’s cock filled cunt, her moves becoming less human while riding her mate, her moans becoming hoarse and more screechy as his dick just kept on stomping her insides; they seemed inhuman, bodies of beastly-gods made for fucking and gaining never-ending delectation from it. Sansa stopped blinking for some time now, her eyes dry and yet shedding tears she couldn’t retain; her waist moved on her own, her fingers slapping against her muggy cunt: she was now resting on her side, her face to the hole she made through the bush. As she watched in a focus nobody could disturb, her body felt an accumulated tension that in a instant could vanish would she continue stroking her slit; her mind stopped working, her legs locking and her hand fretting so fast it felt like burning off of her arm: that cock and that cunt, imbibed in their loving juices, a melting pot of secretions with their heated bodies churning and stirring it all in a sight that made Sansa’s mind collapse: her eyes, in a flash, rolled upwards - she tried to close them, yet a tiny speck of buzzing lights still entered her fluttered eyelids; her entire body dropped to the earth - she did try to stake herself with one of her hand on the ground, alas, her hand jumped off as more flashes invaded her all - her moist gown no longer covering anything but her bosom, with her naked belly, groin and legs shaking violently, her hands trembling trying to hold the grass and her jaw clenching stably her dirty gray gown; her voice couldn’t help but emit cries of pleasure, as much as she tried to suppress them; they were muffled as she could possibly muster of her already gone spirit; it was to her as much as a cruelty to not be able to give in wholly to her jubilation, as it was phenomenal what her peak had made her feel for many a long time; her mind rolled in her body, her body entering her spirit, making a swirling mess out of her…</p><p> </p><p>Sansa woke up in the morning, a breezy chill passing through her soft, peaceful breathing; her eyes were foggy, and her mind serene…She noticed her bare naked bottom half, her face blooming in innocence as she threw her gray gown over her: half-wet with her spit and crystalline with silvery drained secretions, and a wide range of nauseating stenches emanating from her skin. She rushed to her bedchambers flustered, her bothered face unable to look up off the ground, plucking off, again and again, her gown faithfully sticking to her cool skin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aight, nothing out of the order for our couple; should I make them even more vile ? I don't know, it could work cannon-wise, as it only pertains to their sex...Tell me what you think...<br/>As for Sansa, she had to see something out of common, even by an adult's standard, for her to be dazed and seduced. ANYWAY, no more explaining...<br/>So far, I have a couple other chapters planned, awaiting to be written; Tyrion (god, he makes it hard to get his character right in the context of this relationship); Sansa (she will become a main focus-point and main narrator once she embarks for the Eyrie, as she is in the books); I've plans for Myrcella...; also for an original character that I find pretty cool. And other characters that I want to write about, but no plan just yet (Margaery, Shae: it'll be tough on who to choose to be the POV for these characters). I still need to read the books and reread the chapters that matter once I've finished the series...<br/>A long journey awaits me, hope you'll enjoy my creations; I sure do love making them fuck...Maybe I should make it a bit more subtle, less explicit writing ? Again ,tell me what you think...Thanks.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Burning Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>III</em>
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    <em>Burned Daughter</em>
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<hr/><p>Her pale gray eyes were scouting the doors; whoever came and went, she noticed it; nobody did notice her though. She was better than she was before, more shadowy than a ghost.<em> The devil wouldn’t see me coming. </em>Maegor’s Holdfast was massive; from outside she was tinier than she was already, an ant aghast of red stone walls bigger than her home mountains; she felt watched from its to - hardly any place she could hide herself. Inside, the massiveness was reduced: instead came long halls that kept and divided the royal apartments; the rough carpets kept her bare feet warm, away from the wrinkled stone outside. Inside, the sun was kept out, eyes less seeing without it; the still shadows, a thick veil for her body; the incensed air keeping people’s sense lazy and dull. For days she would stay in a dark corner, watching people leave, pretend to leave and some never coming out. Day after day she kept coming back inside, no longer a foreign place; the people, each with a pattern she now knows, no longer but seconds, minutes and hours. Tyrion had warned her: “ keep your head low and see what’s important; I’m not worried about you ratting me out, but I am afraid for your life; it is no safe place, even by its luxurious and lavish looks; eyes are embedded in the cracks of the walls “. She knew that; every crack no longer a mystery or hidden, the eyes promised inside them, darkness. But that wasn’t the purpose; not her task.</p><p>Tyrion had heard of her; the mountains clans couldn’t keep their mouth shut, even if it meant revealing her to the King’s Hand. She had a reputation, even if it was rarely discussed: Tyrion learned that she was a most-talented thief, a shadow who could sneak past a cat without it ever being aware of her. She stole since little, some say laughing, since birth when she stole another woman’s tit, others didn’t know at all. Since 7, she remembered: nobody paid attention to her already, she knew to pretend to be invisible in daylight; by night, she was a passing breeze in a dream. Always last in the lines of the meals, pushed by men towering over her; her stew always cold and her wooden bowl filled with a lick of food. Until she decided she no longer would be last, her stomach tied to her back had demanded it. Her skills amazed even her hungry self; the first time she saw the entire cauldron full of stew just for herself her eyes teared. Since then, she forgot what hunger was like. The easiness that came to her, made her bolder: she stole whatever she fancied, pocketing food or fancy jewelry she stole from the raid bounties. Sometimes she was getting caught by some mistakes, the furious men or women trying to beat her raw, or even kill her. But she always managed to flee; nobody laid a hand on her. As time passed, all the clans knew about her and laughed at whoever got stolen: “ ‘tis your fault, gotta hide it better” they jested mockingly.After she came to King’s Landing, new fancies appeared in her eyes, her people relieved that they shouldn’t hide anymore their belongings in their boots or their undergarments. Until she got caught by a gold cloak; she was beat, her resentment immense: not on the gold cloaks, but on her, as she admitted to the deed, bloodied.</p><p>The Burned Men ceremony was done in a tavern: her resolution was unhinged; her coming-of-age act was one that others looked in awe, others in pure agony: she took a smoldering torch, pinched her tongue between two slender slabs of steel, and burned it to a crisp: she watched the ceiling with a certainty that made the others cheer in a frantic ruckus, as her tongue was getting blacker and blacker. When she spit the burned remains of her once tongue, the Burned Men danced and laughed all night, a ceremony of the same calibre of their young red-hand; Timett One-Eye was present, his eye admiring it all; that same night, he took her.Since the roaring ceremony, Tyrion heard of her: he decided he needed her, in a most delicate spying task, only one as herself could do. He sent her to a scribe to learn how to write and read; he gave her shadowy clothing made all of black. She was to spy Cersei Lannister, his sister. Give him in written letters all her movements and goes; the people she met, the places she went; and, if possible, what she spoke of. Her pay was generous, but she didn’t care for it; not when she didn’t need it to buy things she could easily steal, no; the danger she faced was more interesting, the brushing of peril more worth than his Lannister gold.</p><p>It was the afternoon, a time when the Queen Regent wasn’t in her royal bedchamber, her kingsguard with her. All the emptiness dragged along the hall, and her in it, unknown, unseen. In front of the doors, she lock-picked it skillfully, making the smallest noise of a iron snap; she opened carefully one door and locked it behind her. Her royal chamber was a sight, never had she seen something quite so grand, so imposing; as large as it was full of rich textures of fabrics and materials, colorful yet dignified, no less striking: the great canopied bed in the middle of the room - a statuesque bed embroiled in crimson cushions with gold threads, its red curtains as clear as water, wrinkling in the corners; a great hearth on the wall with unfamiliar tapestries above and next on the walls; armoires and desks of deep oak wood, with a huge mirror surrounded by gold embroidered in gold; everything cried out extravagance and plentiful, richness and prestige, blinding prestige…She rushed back and forth between opening drawers, little holes where important papers would be held, but to no avail; only things she fondled over and over again were ointments and powders, perfumes and bottles of wine, balms and salves, each with an invading smell and a shining blaze. Inside the drawer near the bed, a phial of some tea scented looking fluid; a whiff of mint kissed her nostrils as she unfastened the cloth that tightened its opening. <em>Honey too</em>…Nothing she was familiar with…She put it back; at least, something of interest to write about…She left for the balcony, looking down from the marbled edge. The windy heated air swiped through her greasy, short dirty-brown hair; she breathed heavily the crisp air, away from the spiced perfumes ingrained in the walls of the Queen’s chambers; the sun burnt her rough skin as she closed her eyes, her face facing it, a dozing mood painted on it.</p><p>Out of the peace, her ears trembled at the crushing sound of the doors being shoved, the golden lion faced handle thumping against it violently; she immediately jumped over the guardrail, her hands latching onto the diamond holes of it as far down out of sight as she could, her eyes prying silently still…Her legs swung separately back and forth, trying to re-balance herself after her abrupt jump; the top of her head was poking through the diamond-shaped guardrail, watching the cause of her getting caught unaware: she saw Cersei Lannister dragging by the arm a slim-short man, all in black with sleeves of gray, and released him into her chamber.Cersei closed the doors behind her patiently, as soundless as she could, her back to them as she smiled wickedly to him, her mouth lips going from one ear to the other. She sniggered softly in a playful delight, as the doors shut with the lock snapping into place. She could see Cersei getting away from the doors, her smile dissipating into something more gentle, more bashful; her eyes were scouting the lavish carpets of the floor, sometimes looking up at him and smiling some more, before dispelling it again, and again. He was smiling as well, a smile wide and pointy, his eyes spouting flames, it seemed. They did not notice her - entranced by their little flirtatious games.He was standing still, one hand in the other at his waist; just as she kept approaching him, he recoiled away again and again, doing a circle of the bedroom, a curious dance of sorts…Her laughs were more loud, giggling like a little girl. Until she stopped near the balcony, and said:</p><p>“My master of coin doesn’t seem to be predisposed to share the realm’s financial situations to the Queen; is it incompetence ? or just treachery ? something you aren’t willing to show for fear of the dire repercussions ? I’m a lion, need I remind you; I grew in coins and gold: nothing is new to me”. Her face was getting more upset the more she talked. His smile just grew wider.</p><p>“Be it Queen or King, I’m sure my financial situations are hardly comprehensible to anyone but me; beside, why does my beautiful Queen Regent has interests in such boring matters ? The council is the most appropriate place for such topics; unless my Queen had other plans she would like to discuss” he said with a mocking voice, all the while he sat in a red-wooden chair near the balcony. She watched him rest in her chair, her face growing more annoyed at each word he said.</p><p>“I’m certain my plans I have just made bare; should you refuse once more to…inform me of the monetary problems the kingdom faces…I should be unforgiving…I’m certain you understand my limited choices in this matter”. Cersei approached him slyly, her feet scraping the furred rugs. She was looking down at him, her face a marbled stone, some few inches above him. His expression never changed, but his eyes kept on burning hotter and hotter. They were looking at each other like two statues, no more budging than the mountains.</p><p>“So be it. I would like to think my expertise was more than just an expendable asset to the realm; my Queen Regent likes her servants pliable: I find I’m more of a stone.” Cersei tried to pin him to her chair, but he somehow, as a shadow bents and deforms, slipped past her arms.</p><p>“Petyr!” Cersei cried. Her face was as stern as before, but her eyes were crying helplessness and anger. She shifted away from him, and went to her bed, falling on her back; she threw her soft shoes into the air; she watched the canopy of the bed as she heavily sighed.</p><p>“You know, I never taught you were so fearless; I mean, no one dares to speak back to me, but to openly defy me…Joffrey does it…and it tastes bitter…If I had a say, I would kill you, have no doubts; Joffrey likes you for some queer reason, he doesn’t even know your full name unless he is reminded but no one can convince him to replace you…I don’t like being me…with you…I…feel powerless to change my inner-self towards you”; under her breath, almost a sighing whisper : “what sort of demon are you ? why come to me now ?”. The short man, Petyr, approached her; he was in front of her, at her thrown and lying legs; his smile was less poignant - he still smiled though.</p><p>“My Queen is a most-exquisite child-like woman: rest assured that just as you did not want me, nor did I more. Just as I am of undistinguished birth, and you of royal dynasties, so was the distance between my love and you. I still feel a fool, somewhere I made a mistake I cannot go back to, even if I wanted to. I want to destroy you, make you cry blood and make you drink venom; but I love you more”. His smile died; he went to her ankles and took one in his hands and kissed its pale skin; he stepped in between her legs and his face was above her, his body hovering over her body, a heated tension in the air in-between. Her eyes were looking away, moist in light tears; she suddenly took him by his throat and strangled with her elegant hands, it seemed with all her force.</p><p>“You better speak now of all the financial matters you can think of”, she said as she kissed him hungrily, her hands still encircling his throat. Her lower body pivoted round, touching and nudging his own; she made angry sounds of pleasure; he took her legs and raised them to his waist, the velvet crimson gold robe sliding from her delicious thighs, revealing her expensive nakedness, legs made of ivory tusks and gilded in the gold of the blazing sun. He then raised her back, kissing her all the while, and brought her entire body to him, gluing her palpitating chest to his own pounding breaths. Her legs gripped on his hands and his back, her hands moving from his purple neck to his hair and all of his head and body, dismantling his fancy doublet, unveiling his subtly  pale-copper skin and an ugly giant scar across all of his chest, from pelvis to the thorax, covered in a deep layer of coarse skin on skin; naked, he seemed taller than he was, taller than others she’s seen…Her groin was heating. “Such a little man, holding me like I was his child-whore fuck-doll…hahahahaha! Damn you Baelish! Damn it all!” Cersei said, her mood switched. “Nobody will ever believe that I fuck you…Not even Tyrion , and he’s the most vile one in the realm. Where were you when I needed a better cock than Lancel’s jelly-squid with two tears of milk ? hahahahaha! I didn’t even need moon tea since Jaime left - come to think of it, get me some more, you hear ? You made me use it all since…”. Her voice was raspy with pleasure from all the fretting against his stretched brais, her thighs since-long covered in clingy juice, her robe half-covering her slimy slit, softly pink, and red with want.</p><p>“My Queen is so filthy with desire, it makes me want to expose her…Luckily, my little finger is nastier and only thrives in your mess; I’ll make you slut, whore for all realm to see if need be…Shape your cravings to be chaotic and a sight of horror for all to see…I’ll put your cunt into turmoil and bend it to make it foul, impure and adoring the lowest of corruptions: no other Queen in all of history to have a more depraved cunt, and a more vicious appetite…”.</p><p>“You monster…how dare you speak to your Queen this way! Just fuck me now you little man, fuck me with your little finger already !”. Cersei seemed half-mad with lust; her voice a high-pitched loud whisper; Petyr’s voice low with intent and with a playful tone.</p><p>While holding her, one of his hand took his brais down and his cock sprang heavily outside. Cersei looked down to his manhood with yearn; she lifted her golden robe and pinched it with her mouth; one of her hands was gripping his back, the other touching his manhood. Her thighs were tight around his waist. She stroke his cock and approached it towards her slit; she caressed her entrance with his tip, back and forth as she moaned and cursed in-between her mouth. For some time now, she was hanging from the guardrail; her muscle hands were burning, her arms as heavy as stones; the couple were spellbound and didn’t notice her. She swung her legs to reach the base of the marbled rail, trying to get one of her hands free. As her body burden lightened, she unbarred with great haste her black pants past her fetid dank shrub, her small ass exposed and soggy; her own stank made her even more lusty, her rough big hoarse unladylike fingers reaching for the wild crotch; her nails were cracked and mangled, scraping her lips. Her shout was throaty and almost one a man made: but the couple she was to spy was even more loud; the spastic moans she emitted resonated to their own cries. She watched with unknown desire, fierce and unruly; her vulva covered in delight. His cock was mesmerizing: angry and seemingly on its own, roving noddingly; heavy and fat at its bottom, its length decreasing its girth to the top, where a swollen fatter again still head was gushing violently. She drooled like a hungry pig, her body spicing up, a swarm of tiny stabbing, chilling needles mixing in. Cersei, a couple of feet away, was pumping her body up and down; a vicious slap against his naked lap; sounds of myrthen pain, crunching of teeth, slurping and licking and sucking and slapping and pulling; their fucking was an unseen sight, something out of a forgotten past, of creatures and human alike; the rhythm was fast, light, heavy, slow and emotionless, passionately and loving, caring and cruel; a music only heard to their ears, an untiring act, allowing only pleasures and mind-bending bliss. She released a spraying rain across all her legs and below, into air. Her body shivering and trembling, a rest enfolding her mind.</p><p>Night had settled on her already shadowy figure. She heard Cersei say:</p><p>“My own brother, who came by the order of my father, has done everything to undermine me: he poisoned my wine, I stayed days in bed, unable to see and hear...you were there...I know...I didn’t see you but I know…”. Petyr took her hands, and gently kissed one of them; she smiled tenderly. She resumed: “Meanwhile he sent all my own guards away on some badly needed excuse and now I’m relying on the gold cloaks Janos Slynt recruited: half-idiots and half-leeches, less than a third willing to protect the King...led by Bywater, another man in his pocket...”. She drank some of the moon tea and took leave of his squeeze and fell on her bed, her mouth sad and on the verge of crying: “I trusted him, you know; a little; still, you did warn me about him, but in that moment I couldn’t think he was up to something, not when everything was so right...”. Littlefinger sat besides her, taking her by her shoulders and putting her head on his shoulder; he took her face gently and kissed her brow longingly:</p><p>“Sweet Cersei; my Queen of love and beauty; I do not condemn you for trusting Tyrion: he is your brother: family has on us a web so dense and thick it is wonder we even get know others; you’re the head of yours, and what a family...Tyrion might not even do it against yourself especially, no; no, listen: he’s appointed by his father as Hand, his trust of his father is of most importance to him, above all else; the one denigrated by his father, all his life, could so easily make him proud by just taking all the power from all, and then handing it to him; I doubt he even expects thanks from him or a reward; the only reward he’ll want is his father approval; you must look to him as though nothing is amiss: feign a slight rage, a slight upset; don’t let him get into your feelings...you must then hit where he will be vulnerable...</p><p>“As for your guard...I have heard of some boys; the Kettleblacks, sellswords arrived not long; talk to them, my love, make them work for you; before long, you’ll be guarded by a larger force than the gold cloaks, and no Tyrion to steal them from you; you mustn’t let him sniff a hint of your plan in this regard; be discreet as you can; before I’ll leave I want you to do that; after my return, we will make sure for him to stay put if his ambitions are too big for his height”. She smiled sadly at him; she kissed him and hugged him hard; her fingers digging in his back. They fell on the dispersed cushions of her bed, looking at each other, Cersei touching his features; his eyes getting closer and closer to her face, their noses brushing against each other; they closed their eyes, and after a while she began to laugh merrily, gently; she kissed him fondly, spitting on his lips as he licked it and swallowed it; she backed up and looked at him smiling on his back; she touched his body and lingered on it, caressing his resting member. He took her hand and they sat like this a while. He then motion dragged her hand, calling her to him; she smiled; and the more he insisted, the more she laughed, and when he dragged her hand this time she went with it and crushed on his body; kissed him again longingly, and rested her head on his chest, drawing circles on its skin.</p><p>“I often think of me and you; I try so much to not let a single breath give me away, but inside I’m just burning, you know, I’m happy. I don’t know why... I don’t get it really...do you...I had hoped it was just my curiosity to get more out of your intrigues; but nothing made me curious of that, just of you...I haven’t loved anybody, no one except my family; I still do, I feel responsible for it, I am it’s head ; my father is still alive but how much longer? He is old, and there’s this war; and all my children are mine, he didn’t help me with it...Jamie...Jamie is all I have beside you...I’m sure you know, no reason to hide it anymore...I love him, I have for all my life...I desired him since we were just small, and continue to do so...My feelings...I am just so lonely without him; I’ve slept with Lancel : anything to get him back; my bed feels so cold...I don’t know how, I don’t know why you began to slip in my body, until you were the only thing my heart beat for;</p><p>“I didn’t like you, I certainly didn’t love you...you are just so far from Jaime, in everything; Jaime was so close; now I don’t know if I’ll ever see him, and you leave too... I just keep this all in me and all I get from my brother is his stare that strips me of my clothes and the scowls of my son; Myrcella will soon leave and Tommen stays in this den with vipers each more glutton than the other to teach him their wisdom...”. Her hands were in his chest, her nails tearing his skin.</p><p>“I do not care if you abandon me for this; I’ll do you no harm, and do not vow to keep you hatred. Just know that if you do...that if you leave me...leave me alone again...I’ll be sad...I’ll be heartbroken. I’ll cry for you, I’ll not sleep, dreaming of you... I don’t know what I’ll do...” she looked at him: her face was cold as cold can be, but her eyes were watering and he caressed her corners and said:</p><p>“What you say, it hurts me as well and just as much; our hearts are now together: we stab it, we both die...The past is the past; what is important than most there is, the present; we do not linger on us anymore than we ought to, else we become still, unchanged, unmoving, reaping the dead flowers that grow on top of the fresh ones. Like a maiden, we do not fear our maidenhood loss but embrace it harder still; our family does not need to know who we gave it to, so long as were ridden of it...And enjoy it...</p><p>“We do not answer to our family of our pleasures, we do not answer it to any king, to no god; we alone become. Our fate is not destiny-driven; it is ours; our bodies decay with each religious offering, our mind recoils to honour and legality : we are alone; in the end, we matter together, so long as we are alone mattering too; my Queen is the most beautiful woman in the seen worlds, your body only an affront to the gods we should defile to be sure of our deity; they see, so let them; let them feast a body they can’t pleasure, they can’t touch with their divine hands; be the most proud you can, I love you for it, forever; our minds will get this kingdom for you, and I’ll love you for it; you’ll be the strongest alone and no one to weaken it, and I’ll love you for being you forever; we do not matter unless we are: what to be unless ourselves ? My love is only discovering Beauty, distressed by your own godliness: reach it till you touch the gods, you’ll become: I love you.”</p><p>Her eyes watched him, darting back and forth, trying to understand his words; she finally replied:</p><p>“Petyr, as much as you are short, your mind is surely taller; I do not care for such things, but thank you.” Her face lightened again. “How about your cock ?” she teased while gripping his hardening staff. “Does he care about my body of destiny ?” she said laughing.</p><p>“Oh, it’s all it does I’m afraid; the only thing he wants”. Before she could even quip back, he was back on her, tearing all her golden gown to shreds, and kissing her naked body all over.</p><p>She jumped from the guardrail when they were asleep; before long, she was out of the Red Keep. She wandered the streets, a dusty wind whipping her dried skin. The blinding moon kept her hazy; she reached for a door and entered; demanded a pleasure girl and spent the remaining night into her arms, her mind shaking and alienated.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Voilà! Another chapter done, this one, although concise, does not expand much. Next chapters will, a bit; besides, we surely only read for Cersei and Littlefinger right ? (Except I plan to make him a casanova); anyway, tell me what you think, what should I think of more, and whatever else you want. Peace.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Between Dreams of Flowers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <b>IV</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>
    <b>Tyrion</b>
  </em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The first couple of days, Tyrion’s mind was blooming with hazy visions: dismaying visions: nightmarish rotting bodies humping each other with haste, losing limbs and members of their bodies like snow breaking, into nothingness; each night, a fear of dreaming was paralyzing his <span>afore</span> rest; until he demanded of Pod to bring him dreamwine, in no small quantity. His dreams <span>re</span><span>cessed</span> his fuming brain, dissolving into sweet oblivion. Despite the rest, a wariness tired his body: his legs were slower and his face was meditating a thought, thoughts that only he knew…thoughts that tortured his perceptions, his own knowing of life as he lived it till now: nothing made sense, and that scared him senseless; a feeling of absolute ignorance crept his spine, his bones chilling frozen to this unknown feeling, somewhat familiar…Cersei was his sister, part of the family which so <em>much </em>loved him; despite their sharing and bonding, Jaime kept his sister all to himself; Tyrion even fleshed a form of disgust of himself at the thought of sleeping with his sister; but…who could tell, him blindfolded and her mouth shut…he wouldn’t deny his cock the sensations his brother chose; but, the desires faded that night, along with his seed and what came was a feeling of loss he didn’t understand, that he couldn’t separate from the other feelings that shook his body; his mind a cemetery of his past seems of the peoples he thought he knew: Petyr Baelish, a small man unlike anything a proud lion like Cersei; someone on the other side, someone beyond touch and want; someone nobody saw, the least together…Cersei, <em>the queen for god’s sake</em>…<em>What is she doing and thinking</em><em>?</em><em> What happened that made them stick</em><em>?</em><em> A whore-monger and the Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms</em><em>?</em></p><p class="western">When thinking back, nothing made sense; nothing seemed to match, nothing between, above, below, nothing inside that made what he saw clear. <em>Does Varys know</em><em>?</em><em> He must know at least something is amiss, if not the whole picture… </em>He would pay his men to do it, but the last spy he sent wound up dead in the arms of a whore, her heart still as a rock caused by manticore venom: an ugly sight, knowing she was decent to look at: her eyes were open with her pupils gone behind the bloody whites; <em>she was blinded too</em>…She was examined, and no one was more of a suspect than the next; no whore told the story different, and even Chataya and Alayaya reported the same one: the girl – <em>gods, even her names escapes me</em><em>- </em>came haggardly in with a pouch of silver ready to spend the night away with a whore; not even a couple hours later, the pleasure girl she was with screamed out of their room and said her girl collapsed with a thump on the wooden floor, as if she was a sack of sand. <em>No one is a suspect, but I know which one…and as much as it is a heart attack out of pure excitement, so is the message clear: I know that you know, keep your eyes to yourself…</em>They would at least do her a proper burial, and bring her ashes back to her mountains, ever regretting employing her…<em>Playing spy games with novice girls against spiders and birds…Not a smart move</em>, he agreed in regret…<em>She saw them</em>, doing something worth someone’s life, and a secret…the same thing he saw, except he didn’t get caught or noticed…She payed a price she couldn’t pay with stolen coin; all the gold of Casterly Rock couldn’t pay it for her…Alas, he couldn’t do but mourn, and quickly; no more lingering on mistakes and lives taken by them: Stannis was coming and the butchering would be more worthy of a longer mourning; he would mourn them all then…</p><p class="western">He, for some reason, believed Littlefinger had some shred of dignity to him; Cersei had to had the most of it; dignity he named it: he knew it was only her own reflection that pleased her the most, but called it dignity nonetheless; <em>the lion does not sleep with just anybody; at least not with the lions that don’t look like Jaime… </em>It doesn’t make sense, it isn’t right by any means, does not seem to really happen; <em>when</em><em>?</em><em> when did they start</em><em>?</em> surely after Jaime left and got captured: not once has Cersei even mentioned Lord Baelish to him or anyone he knew; if she had, Jaime would be the first to tell him back and the first surest to kill him, had they had anything going on; but nothing revealed their rotten…relationship – not that sleeping with their own brother made the situation more believable but…still, it was a Lannister, not some petty coin rubber and flesh-peddler. Cersei was as sure stricken with love for Jaime as she was all her life, nothing changed in her demeanor; <em>where were the hints</em><em>?</em><em> Did he dream it all</em><em>?</em><em> A nightmare in the sunset</em><em>?</em> No, his body remembered: <em>my own head hurt with the shame of joy I spilled on to my sheets</em>… Not a dream; not a scam either:<em> I saw them with my own eyes, bouncing feverishly on the council table; Baelish’s black mockingbirds and Cersei’s clear face, and body…</em></p><p class="western">
  <em>I thought Lancel was giving her the pleasure she required, a much-needed second-rate Jamie; how come Petyr is the one giving it to her…is she just sleeping with him so he can use him</em>
  <em>?</em>
  <em> No, that would be Lancel, as his up-jumped brain couldn’t even perceive that…a poor copy of Lannister’s brain as well I suppose…</em>
  <em>If Jaime knew...if I told him, his sister cheating her lifelong love twin for a shorter, weaker man, who’s only talent is money and jokes; he might kill him… hopefully not Cersei too..</em>
</p><p class="western">Tyrion went to the Tower of the Hand, trying to resume his duties in a most desperate attempt to find and at the same time, appease his mind…Beside him was Pod; inside the Keep, the chambers looked heavy; the council chamber rested heavy on his breath as he tried to peek with the corner of his eye the great double-doors closing the view he dreaded to imagine…The serpentine steps weren’t easier: his mind impeached his rejuvenation his body tried to get back to: he asked warily of Pod to help him climb them, latching on to the young’s man shoulder. Pod remained at the door, <em>a lesser guard, true, but a trusted one</em>, and with a less-running mouth than others…</p><p class="western">Inside the grand chamber, the huge windows were chafing with the burning orange sun, dawn setting on the desks and scrolls and tomes, lending its warmth. Tyrion disregarded it all and went straight to his bed, splashing on it as a thrown stone in the water; the rays embraced his body, the warmth reminding him of the nights he spends in Shae’s arms…What he couldn’t recall was Cersei’s choice: she spent her life admiring her own beauty in all the mirrors and across her brother’s face and her children traits; her arrogance was not only in her icy personality, Tyrion knew, but on her face it painted her coldness to the others without much subtlety; for those who knew how to read, her expressions didn’t hide it more than necessary: he would know… Seduced then…by Littlefinger…? Has Littlefinger given up on his precious Cat after Ned’s death? Why? As far as he knew, nothing was opposing him to <em>seduce </em>her, if not to marry; Cat’s own feelings, true, but would Petyr just give up because of that? <em>No</em>, something else was up…A chill ran his back and he sprang from the comfortable bed and went to his desk. He would need to dig in his memories…<em>might take hours, might take days, years</em>…He would get to the bottom of it, if not for his own peace of mind and the leverage he might get on both of them, at least for Jaime, who deserves to know; <em>they would be better with only my knowledge</em>, even though he wasn’t hard-pressed to reveal it to either of them…<em>better stay put for now…it is bound to be plentiful down the line, no doubt</em>…</p><p class="western">Cersei had eyes that looked and froze and burned the same as a venom: no one dared to look in her face, commoners revealing their stupor and idealistic desire, the closer ones for fear of disrespecting her, again with that beauty that couldn’t keep one’s thoughts far from his eyes…At council everyone was more brazen, camouflaging behind thin-veiled humility...Pycelle, although he was a perverse old thing with more vice than a young lord with unrestrained desires, knew his place, all his life he did; he cheated where he would be not caught, although he did get caught…and I <em>will do it again…treacherous old far</em>t…Varys, well…Varys knows something, Tyrion was sure of it<em>; why hasn’t he said anything</em><em>?</em><em> He might wait just like me to make sure of </em><em>an importune</em><em> moment and then strike….</em></p><p class="western">The first time he was appointed as Hand of the King, nothing seemed out of order…Was something brewing then? Petyr had been always on the verge of boredom, feigning disinterest and cracking jokes anytime he saw an opening…his gray-green eyes were smiling to everyone then; but <em>he would be quite foolish to express desire in front of all of us</em>…No, something must of set them…something that wasn’t obvious: a hidden glance, a hidden smile…Cersei’s smile flashed in an instant in front of his eyes: an awful smirk she kept for Jaime alone, he knew…Was that it ? <em>It must be: that was the moment they must of noticed each other more than they seemed to be</em>…But…would Cersei even risk so much, something so obvious in front of her entire council ? In truth, he didn’t linger on that smile of hers: it wasn’t her usual smiles, true, even less than usual, but still…it was directed at Petyr: he didn’t even seem to notice it in the least…and everyone wasn’t even preoccupied by Cersei when Petyr told them of his retaliation plan…Besides, even after this, nothing in the next councils they partook, did it transpire even as a sideways glance or another smile of hers, or his for that matter…No, everything was the same…<em>They are fooling everyone</em>...</p><p class="western">The next <span>couple</span> of days, Tyrion had a cycle of going and leaving <span>out of</span> his tower, barely speaking to anyone outside his immediate company; his demeanor was focused, as if pondering an edged query of other-worldly proportions; he realized he must seem like a focused imp: nothing quite funny as a serious funny-looking person...His mind did find what he s<span>ought</span>, at least in small parts, here and there, with a couple of eyebrow-raising conclusions: had it really began then? <em>No</em>, said a part of him; <em>it couldn’t -when else? It makes sense only then</em>...<em>Again I have to had some sort of memory of them past, but nothing...absolutely nothing was out of order.</em>..He drank the candid odors of Myrcella’s garden: roses than spiced his eyes all <span>around</span>, dripping red as the Lannister banner; Tyrion didn’t often spend time with flowers and <span>t</span><span>heir scent</span>: somehow this time it made him more relaxed, his smell caging his overbearing thoughts of him into the hot air about. It was midday as he spread his legs out of a stoned bench in the middle; it cooked him, and nothing felt so good as the sun blazing through his <span>c</span><span>lothes, caressing his</span> skin beneath. The flowers were right to be Myrcella’s: gillyflowers, lady’s lace, evening stars and lilac combining together to be a maze of scents within a maze of small bush- beneath Tyrion’s waist; he was quite grateful of seeing something so beautiful that wasn’t her niece’s face -<em>she is definitely not just her mother’s beauty</em>: he was getting along fine with the smaller ones, even caring more than anybody else besides Jaime; he wasn’t happy with him sending her off to Sunspear, but he had little choice if he were to rid of Cersei’s power, and be assured of her safety...<span>Out of the saddening regret,</span> he remembered, something did seem to stick out: her face, as much as she resembled Cersei’s, couldn’t hide her emotions as well as her mother: she was concerned with a matter that Tyrion only half-listened: “I should not complain, I know, but you need to help mommy: these days she does not look at me, she watches past me, and she does not speak like she used to with me; when I hold her hand, <span>s</span><span>he</span> doesn’t hold me back: I’m scared that she’s too sad because of daddy; Tyrion, can’t you do something…” <em>Wish I could, Myrcella; wish I would've known before you left and somehow convince her to not lay abed with a notorious panderer…</em></p><p class="western"><em>Why should </em><span><em>I</em></span><em> care? Why Cersei’s sleeping mates should be any of </em><span><em>m</em></span><span><em>y</em></span><em> interest? Myrcella...Tommen… gods, even Joffrey: they all might lose all respect, all love and affection for their mother if only a word would go out</em>; he couldn’t do that, not to Myrcella and Tommen...Cersei didn’t deserve any of them, but they needed to have a mother, however she may be...The Red Keep raised around him, its red bricks pulsing with light; out of its movement, he could hear Cersei’s voice, laughing, a whisper out of the bleeding red building; the towers about lent an echo to his sister’s voice: what he dreamed at first with his ears, seemed to form itself more and more around him; he shifted from his nonchalant position and rested keen on what he heard: <em>no more...no more hearings, or I swear I’ll not control myself if I should ever see them again together</em>: his heart pressed hurriedly inside, but his minds was ravenous with anger: he couldn’t bear the thought watching them again fucking like animals…</p><p class="western">Out of his corner of his eye, he saw both of them: walking together, her hand resting on his arm: she was radiating in the sun like a golden apple, in her low-cut gown of deep-green velvet, her white shoulders showering in the sun’s rays; besides her, Littlefinger was in a tunic with puffed sleeves of deep-blue velvet; had Tyrion not known them, not ever known them, he might think they made an admirable couple: instead, insults came to his mind and a want to shout high in the air, mocking his sister, belittling her and laugh in her face; his prime revulsion came at an end when he realized he wasn’t the most apt to judge: him and Shae, and his countless whoring all across Westeros..<em>.My love is immense compared to whatever those two have; Shae hasn’t but adoring love for me, what do they have that could even compare?: cunning toward their ambitions?: we’re on the edge of war and they buzz in the gardens</em>...His words felt deaf in his mind, not helping him in the least, making him the more debased the more he argued with their silhouette.</p><p class="western">He truly hasn’t seen Cersei so <span>accessible</span> in decades; not since his childhood truly...Her smile was something between shy and proud, and when she laughed she let all of her accustomed veil fall in an instant: her eyebrows upturned as if pitying him, with her mouth baring all her teeth with restrained laughing sounds, a laugh provoked by a hilarity she couldn’t abstain herself from; she was naked before Petyr, he made her so, with his jokes or whatever he said: he seen all of her, from head to toe, a sight only one man ever had in all history; somehow that made Tyrion the more angrier: <em>you’re supposed to be the most proud one </em><span><em>of us</em></span><em> all, and yet let all of it go...what about Jaime? Have you given up about him already? </em><em>Did the war made you despair of ever seeing him again?...Why Baelish? Why him?</em></p><p class="western">He saw Tyrion, with his sharp gray-green eyes, and patted Cersei on the back of her palm quickly; she looked at Petyr first, whispering, and her smile died slowly until it vanished completely when she saw Tyrion. She regained her mask in a blink; unknown to Tyrion, they made toward him.</p><p class="western">“My Lord Hand had had the better sense to rest in the gardens by such a day; my Queen proposed just as much, and I could never refuse her, not if it meant some time off my duty” he said.”Though still of <span>duty</span> we talked…”.</p><p class="western">“I’m sure it’s a more serious talk if it meant that much laughter; duty can be quite funny, I’ve realized…”.</p><p class="western">“Watch what you’re saying, imp” replied Cersei, with a venom she hadn’t usually; <em>she doesn’t like being teased</em>, he knew; <em>I’ll poke gently then, but still I must poke</em>.</p><p class="western">“I was being truthful, sweet sister...But never mind all that; I’m certainly curious of how came about the discussion: Cersei hardly seems the enterprising type to walks of <em>duty</em>...I’m sure Lord Baelish convinced you somehow…All this talk of duty and realm matters is no obvious thing on this day, if not at all...”. He wanted just to see their reactions, more than revealing anything…</p><p class="western">“Your sister is just as truthful as you, my lord Hand; she is concerned with the matters of war, resting on your overworked shoulders day and night: she had to pry to make sure of a resounding success...”.</p><p class="western">“And how have you resolved this matter?”.</p><p class="western">“It is only my duty to make sure of your success; that’s why we talk. Now, I must confess, I crack a few jokes, I’m not the type to resist them, even in most-dire matters, as you know...It makes <em>talking</em> less of a struggle and more of a pleasure...Results will come, my lord, have no doubt...The Queen Regent and I, and all the council, make double efforts to see King’s Landing out of conquest…”. By now, Tyrion felt as though it went nowhere, this little jabber between them.</p><p class="western">“Cersei, you look beautiful today, as in most days; but today, you look delightful; not that I would not trust our Master of Coin, but who knows: even honorable Ned Stark succumbed once to temptation…”</p><p class="western">“Speak <span>with your whole mouth Tyrion, or don’t speak at all: we’re on the brink of war, we don’t have time for your little spars of words; I would rather not tarnish this day with more of your little vices”. </span><span><em>So I’m the one wasting time, am I? God, sister, I would love to slap that delightful face of yours.</em></span><span>..Tyrion felt rage building inside of him, but his mouth just concluded: </span></p><p class="western">“<span>I’m only worried about our King’s mother and her image...But I’m sure, you’re more best counseled by Lord Petyr here...So I’ll leave you two with your talk...Don’t mind what I said.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Have no fear my lord; we’re all just making sure your family succeeds…”. Petyr’s mouth furrowed a sharp smile and </span><span>raised his arm for Cersei. She grabbed it with her long fingers and said: </span></p><p class="western">“<span>You </span><span><em>should</em></span><span> be concerned with your image: I’m not the dwarf desperate to throw his little cock inside every passing whore”. </span><span><em>It ain’t that little, sister…</em></span><span> “Keep your pale insults to someone who wants to listen to a dwarf's vile rambles”. And with that, they left, Cersei more furious and less prone to jokes now...</span><span><em>at least that</em></span><span>...although it wouldn’t be long before Petyr would find something more interesting to distract her with…</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Tyrion felt more in control of himself; this time, his mind was fully arming himself: a small spar with words and it made him regain his senses; he would <em>thank</em> Littlefinger for it, before he would chop his head off...and his sister – i</span>
  <span>
    <em>f the gods are good...</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So...yeah...good stuff...I think...I felt good at least...I'm currently reading ASoS, and Cersei even had a argument about Baelish ,her taking his defense...Truly, I don't ever believe that she had anything with Baelish going on, although it would make sense, kind of...There are enough lapses in their relationship to sketch a skeleton of it, although it would take something truly glorious to make it true...An "one-night stand" idea...But it wouldn't be that good to be just sex and nothing else...Spoilers: the Kettleblacks most probably fuck her, and they all remind me of Petyr, not by their appearance, but how they always smile and make jokes, confident and horny af...Anyway, the next chapter should take a while before I will write it: it's in Highgarden...<br/>I try to write in the same order as the book; anyway, enough talk...Peace.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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